The Special Ones (18 page)
‘But what has happened to her?’ I ask. ‘Why is she being so difficult and disobedient?’
‘Everything is about to change,’
the vision explains.
‘This change will bring wonderful things, although the journey will not be easy. You need to forget everything you knew about the Special Ones. Leave it all behind.’
‘Not the farm!’ My muscles start to tense again.
The vision nods. ‘
Yes, the farm and the other girls too. Harry is completely irrelevant, of course.’
Her hands stretch up above her head, her beautiful hair streaming back, liquid silver whipping wildly in the wind.
‘Leave everything behind – everything except Esther. She is the one thing you must not lose. You need to collect her again – alive – and take her home.’
‘I will,’ I vow. ‘I will.’
The vision rewards me with a smile, beautiful and powerful as she fades, leaving me with a feeling of intense joy. I hurry to my car, hidden in a little clearing nearby, and begin to drive off in the same direction that Harry took a few minutes ago. I do not doubt for a moment that I’ll catch up with them. Then I will collect her and bring her home, to me.
As I drive, laughter spills unexpectedly from me. And once I start, I can’t stop. This evening has not gone how I had imagined, but this doesn’t matter. That’s the wonderful thing about being me. When things take an unexpected turn, it usually means something better is coming.
There are no lights along the dirt track but I don’t need them. If I were blind I’d still be able to drive this route – I know its bends and dips intimately.
When I hear the rumble of the motorbike ahead of me, I pull back a little. I do not want Harry to see me and attempt some dangerous getaway that results in an accident. I don’t want to see Harry’s traitorous face again, either, for that may cause me to lose control. Satisfying as it is to imagine sideswiping Harry’s bike, or picturing his body being tossed into the dirt or speared by a tree branch, I cannot risk anything happening to Esther.
I make sure to remain a bend or two behind them. Let them think they have evaded me so far.
Once we’ve turned onto the freeway and I’m shielded by other vehicles, I pull a little closer. The traffic is heavy for this time of night and Harry weaves through it impatiently, his bike leaning dangerously as he edges ever forward. He knows I’m there – I’m sure of it – although I’m equally confident he hasn’t spotted me yet. Hiding in plain view is one of my specialities.
Esther also senses I’m nearby; each time the bike appears in my line of vision her head turns, examining the drivers of the cars around her. Would she recognise me if she saw me? I’d like to think she would, just not right now.
I try to read her thoughts, but the distance and the motorbike helmet make it difficult. All I can pick up on is her agitation, which buzzes like static in her head.
I send her mental messages of reassurance.
Have no fear, Esther. I know this is a confusing time. But I promise you won’t have to wait too long until we’re together again.
Waiting is difficult. I know this because I’ve done such a lot of it. The worst waiting was when I was very young, when it felt endless. Waiting for Christmas. Waiting for the holidays. Waiting at the doctor’s as my brother was stitched up again. Waiting to hear what my mother would say when she phoned her friends, the ice clinking in one of her strong-smelling drinks as she whispered words she thought I couldn’t hear:
There’s something about him that scares me.
Waiting to learn which punishment my father, Mr Big Important Police Chief, had selected for me this time – beaten with his belt, while ash drifted down like grey snow from his cigarette, or locked in the dark cellar for hours, with nothing but that gurgling boiler for company?
But, through it all, I knew instinctively that these hardships were temporary, and that ultimately the waiting would be worth it. Something was coming that would make sense of my life. Something greater.
I sense that Harry and Esther are heading for the city, and at the next turn-off I’m proven correct. The traffic slows and merges. Sound-blocking barriers are replaced with suburban yards and houses. Where is he taking her? Back to her house? Surely not to his. I have not kept track of Harry since he left the farm, assuming he would stick to our agreement, so I do not know where he lives these days. But if his current address is anything like the one where I first met him, it would not be at all appropriate for Esther.
At the first set of traffic lights I have to fight the urge to rush up, drag Esther from the bike and bundle her back into my car. The problem is that there are far too many people about. Ordinary people are so limited in their thinking. They wouldn’t understand what I was doing. That I was only reclaiming what already belonged to me.
I trail the bike through a tangle of outer suburban streets, suspicious that Harry is trying to lose me. I pull back, create a little more distance between us, and as a consequence almost do not see him turning into a car park – the car park of a police station.
I pull up around the corner, seething. How could Harry bring Esther this close to danger? I’ve made it very clear that the police are not to be trusted, under any circumstances.
I get out of the car, leaving the back open, and hurry quietly around to the car park. It’s Friday night and the streets are crowded with people either going home or heading out. No-one pays any attention to me. I weave silently between the parked vehicles, sticking to the shadows around the edge of the lot, finally crouching behind a station wagon only a few metres from Harry and Esther.
They are standing near the bike and, although I can’t make out everything they’re saying, it’s clear that they’re having an argument. Harry is holding both the helmets, and Esther has her hand on his chest like she’s trying to push him away – a sight that makes me smile, despite the touching that it involves.
I see Esther mouth a word.
Go!
The sound of traffic blocks Harry’s reply but I can tell from his expression that he’s not happy.
They’re distracted,
I think.
I could drive up in my car, knock Harry down and grab Esther. I’d be gone before anyone realised what happened.
My blood pumps faster at the thought of doing it – and right beside a police station too! How angry my father would be. Silently, I turn and hurry back towards my car.
I’m still shaking from the journey here on Harry’s bike. I’d forgotten how loud and fast traffic is, especially on a freeway. Everything was so bright, all those shiny, flashing lights zooming by. I held onto Harry with all my might, rigid with excitement and terror. Even now that we’ve stopped, those twin feelings swirl around inside me. But I have to force myself to concentrate on Harry’s face. On what I need to do.
His arms are crossed. ‘Where you go, I go,’ he says firmly. He looks so different in normal clothes. His hair is short as peach fuzz, and the beard has gone too. Would I know him, if we passed each other by chance?
Nothing feels certain right now. My head is foggy from all the car fumes I’ve been breathing in, the unfamiliar city sounds. Some passers-by on the street suddenly laugh, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
Get it together. Focus. Appear rational and calm, even while your heart hammers in your chest.
Around me the air seems to pulse with danger. I swallow. Try again. ‘Please, Harry. It’s better if I go in there alone.’
Harry frowns in confusion. ‘But
why
?’
I hesitate. The thing is, I’m not exactly sure why I want Harry to stay hidden for now. It seems crazy, just when we’ve found each other again, but it’s a feeling I have – one that’s squeezing my insides like a clamp. Obviously a
feeling
will not be enough to persuade Harry to go. Nor will telling him that enough people have been hurt because of me, and I can’t risk it happening again. Because what exactly do I think will happen if he comes into the police station anyway? I can’t explain it, but I can’t shake the fear either.
‘I don’t know if the police will even believe me,’ I say in a rush. ‘I might get arrested, or questioned for hours. Felicity really needs to go to a hospital
tonight
. If anything happens to me, or the police won’t help, it’ll be up to you to get her and Lucille out. And then
he’
s still out there …’
The traffic is a low growl in the background as Harry thinks, his forehead creased. I can tell that he wants to argue, to refuse flat out. But I can also see that I’ve struck a chord with him.
Hurry,
I think anxiously.
Please hurry.
Finally, his shoulders sag. ‘If that’s really what you want, I –’
He breaks off as a car turns quickly into the car park, blinding us with its headlights. I feel every muscle tense, ready to run, until I see the lights on top of the car.
Police.
They pull to a stop not far from us. Harry is frozen beside me, his jaw taut, eyes narrowed. I can see his uncertainty, his reluctance to give me up. I squeeze his arm. ‘Go!’ I tell him, my voice soft. ‘It’ll be fine, I promise.’
But it’s only when the doors of the police car open that he finally pulls on his helmet, kicks the bike’s engine into life. And even though it’s what I insisted I wanted, my insides drop horribly as he roars out of the car park and disappears from view.
Two officers emerge from the car. ‘Is everything all right, ma’am?’ one of them calls to me. ‘Was he harassing you?’
I shake my head. ‘Everything’s fine.’ I sound weird, false. ‘He’s – I hitched a ride with him here.’
One of the officers walks towards me. ‘Has something happened? Do you need help?’
I’m suddenly aware of how I must look, standing there in my long white dress, gloves and bare, dirty feet. I start to shiver violently as they draw closer,
his
dire warnings about the police crowding into my mind.
They’ll think you’re crazy, or dangerous. They’ll arrest you. Shoot you.
But I take a deep breath. Look directly into the nearest officer’s eyes. ‘My name is Tess Kershaw,’ I say, ‘and I’ve been missing for two years.’
As I say the words, there’s a loud noise behind me and I swing round, worried and yet desperately hoping that Harry has changed his mind. But instead, I see a dark blue car with the window rolled down.
I can’t make out the driver’s face, but I catch a gleam of metal through the window. Then the car reverses with a screech and drives away.
At first I feel very little at all. My senses are numbed by disbelief.
She is gone. Again.
But soon the rage takes hold.
This is Harry’s fault.
Breaking promises by appearing when he should not be here at all. The vision told me to forget about Harry, and I know I shouldn’t waste my energy on anger – but how can I let him go unpunished for this? That goes against what I believe.
A memory stirs – a chair collapsing under me at school, everyone laughing while a classmate held out a handful of bolts. I didn’t react at the time; I waited. An accidental bump while he was using the bandsaw during Woodwork quickly removed the culprit from the school. More importantly, my dignity was restored.
I hurry back to my car. Harry can’t have gone very far yet and I know the sorts of places he’s likely to head to. But then I hear the vision’s voice in my head.
‘Let him go. There are more important things to attend to. Your own wellbeing, for one thing. Esther, in her addled state, is likely to tell those idiots everything about the farm.’
She’s right, of course. A chill passes through me. ‘Should I destroy it?’
I have prepared for this possibility – the petrol is ready and waiting in the cellar at home – but I had hoped it would not be necessary, and there probably isn’t time to do it now, anyway.
‘You don’t have time,’
says the vision, echoing, as she often does, my thoughts.
‘Besides, it’s more important that you destroy any pathways that might connect the farm to you and the Special Ones portal too. You must act immediately.’
‘But I need to fetch Esther, take her home,’ I say. ‘Although I suppose there will be other opportunities.’
‘Yes, there will be,’
confirms the vision.
‘Right now, you must focus on protecting yourself.’
I swing the car around and head home.
Our house was built by my great-grandfather on a large block, well back from the street and hidden almost entirely by trees. My mother used to grow roses along the fence but these are mostly dead now. Not that it really matters. One day I intend to replace all the flowerbeds with vegetable patches. Perhaps it’s something Esther and I can do together.
In the driveway, I stop to unlock the front gate. Inconveniently, but also typically, my next-door neighbour, Mrs Lewis, uses this moment to leap out from nowhere.
‘Oh, I’ve been waiting all day to see you! Here, I baked you some brownies,’ she says, forcing a plate of burnt squares into my hands. She’s dressed, as usual, in faded purple yoga pants and a sparkly, hand-knitted top.
